Dark Mark
by fantasyaddict95
Summary: Draco Malfoy is initiated into the Death Eaters. Read and Review! Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

"Draco, dear, hurry up," Narcissa Malfoy whispered to her son. Her voice had a hint of panic in it. She pulled on Draco's arm. She was terrified, unable to stop thinking about what happens to those who delay the Dark Lord.

Still, though his mother insistently tugged, Draco stood still. He was far strong enough to resist Narcissa's feeble tries, and instead he stared blankly ahead. He squinted his eyes through the haze of gathering darkness. He could just see the endless tunnel of smoke that billowed from a stone chimney in the distance. The chimney was that of Borgin and Burke's, a shady shop located in an even shadier place. Draco and his mother were headed to Knockturn Alley, and they had no time to lose.

"Draco…" Narcissa moaned urgently, "The Dark Lord instructed us to be there by sundown. We have little time. We need to go…" Draco blinked.

"You think I don't know that, Mother?" he snapped disdainfully, "You think I don't know what the Dark Lord is capable of?" Narcissa laughed uneasily.

"Of course, of course," she said, her voice high-pitched, "That's why we have to hurry, darling." She reached up her small, frail hands to touch her son's face, but Draco jerked away with a scowl. Narcissa slowly retracted her shaking hands. She let out a small whimper.

"I wish…" she hissed passionately, teeth clenched, "I wish, more than _anything_, you didn't have to do this, Draco." She spoke to his back, which was turned resolutely away from her. The look in his eyes was hard. Her son's coldness made Narcissa only more distraught. She reached desperately for Draco's arm, and he retreated from her grasp like she had flames for fingers. But Narcissa grabbed again with both arms, and held tight, struggling against her son's resistance. She pulled his arm to her chest and hugged it, burrowing her face in the fabric of his coat. He was wearing a dark suit jacket over a short-sleeved black t-shirt, but he had rolled up the sleeves of the jacket, displaying prominently his forearms. The sight of them, clean and untarnished, made Narcissa burst into tears.

Narcissa choked and gasped, tears streaming down her chalk-white face. She didn't bother to wipe them off. Each salty drop ran down to her chin and dripped onto the collar of her robe, turning the black fabric blacker. Draco listened to his mother's sobs. Knowing his face was out of view, he allowed his tough mask to crack, just a little. If you looked, you could see the anguish in his deep gray eyes, gray as storm-clouds. Narcissa took a sharp breath and cried out to her son:

"I'll…I'll never forgive myself for letting this happen to you."

Draco frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous," he hissed, "It isn't your fault. " He hesitated a second before saying, "It isn't anyone's fault but mine. I want this…I _chose_ this." Narcissa gripped Draco's arm still more tightly, seeking his eyes, but he kept them guarded.

"Look at me," Narcissa begged, "Look at me, Draco…_please_."

Slowly, reluctantly, Draco turned his head and faced his mother's concerned gaze. Once their eyes had met, Narcissa took the opportunity to grab Draco's face between her hands, bring it towards her, and hold it there, firmly but lovingly. She made a mental check of his appearance: the ugly circles beneath his eyes, the beads of sweat on his forehead, his ghostly skin and flushed cheeks. She saw the red rings around his eyes. Color flooded Draco's face at his mother's appraisal, and he glanced away from her, ashamed at what he saw as weakness.

Narcissa only smiled sadly. She took Draco's chin in her palm and gently forced his eyes back to her.

"No one _chooses_ this life, Draco," she said quietly, "No one ever wants this."

"I have to do this, Mother," he responded, his jaw clenched, "For Father, for the – for the…cause."

"Do you think your father wants this for you? Darling, we _love _you, more than anything else in the world. We just want you to be safe." Though her voice was steady, tears rolled down her face. Draco reached out his own hand to gently wipe them away. His voice cracked:

"I'll- I'll be okay, Mum, I promise," he said softly, "This is my destiny."

Narcissa's eyes clouded, and she frowned. She sighed, "And how I wish it wasn't."

Suddenly, Narcissa's face contorted. She gasped, and squeezed her eyes shut tight, causing more tears to leak from the corners.

"Mum, mother, what's wrong?" Draco insisted. Narcissa's hands flew from her son's face to her left sleeve. She frantically pushed it up, revealing her Mark, a snake protruding from the mouth of a skull. Usually red and faint, it now burned jet-black. It pulsated and rolled over Narcissa's skin, almost like a living, breathing creature.

"The Dark Lord!" Narcissa gasped through the pain, "He's angry. We have to be there, _now_!" Draco's eyes widened, but before he could do or say or even think much of anything, his mother grabbed his arm.

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_Hello! I hope you all enjoyed that. This story has been an idea in my head for quite some time and I've been working on and off on it for a while. I'm fairly proud of how it turned out. I'm going to publish it in 3 parts because it ended up being pretty long. Please read and review! Thanks! I love you all! _


	2. Chapter 2

For an instant, Draco was nowhere, and he felt like the air around him was folding in, smothering him. He could see nothing but darkness, and all he was conscious of was his mother's grip around his wrist.

Then, just as quickly, they landed with a pop on dusty hardwood floors. The sudden impact made Draco loose his balance and fall to his knees. He heard laughter, and he climbed quickly to his feet, his eyes adjusting to the dim candlelight of the large room. Narcissa had released his arm, and she was standing next to him, her eyes fixed on some point unseen by Draco. She looked petrified. Then, a high, cold voice spoke.

"I thought I instructed you not to apparate here," spoke Lord Voldemort, sounding amused, "Mr. Malfoy here is, as yet, underage, and we don't want to call any more attention to ourselves than necessary. Am I not right in thinking that it's quite foolish to do so? Please, Narcissa, correct me if I'm wrong." Narcissa had her shaking hands clasped together, and her eyes were directed to the floor.

"No, my Lord, absolutely correct. I'm deeply sorry for my mistake."

Voldemort laughed, "Is that the best you can do, my dear Narcissa? A rather poor excuse for your tardiness, I think. Such a shame."

Without the slightest hesitation, he pulled his wand, long and slender, out from the depths of his cloak. Pointing it at Narcissa, he calmly spoke the simple world: _Crucio._

Like a puppet, a performer right on cue, Narcissa shrieked, moaned, and sank to her knees. The entire procession watched, the audience if Narcissa was the actress. They stared in silence as Narcissa Malfoy screamed and writhed on the dusty ground. Draco longed to go to her, but he resisted, knowing as well as they all did that he would just as swiftly receive the same punishment. His face constricted and he looked away as Voldemort at last retracted his wand with a cold smile, as Narcissa was left curled up on the floor, whimpering.

Collectively, the room seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"So," Voldemort addressed his audience, as casually as ever, "Back to business, shall we?" He took a step forward grandly, emerging out of the shadows that had concealed him. His tall figure, draped in black, was powerful and all-encompassing. Effortlessly he commandeered the attention of all those gathered. Eyes followed his every movement: a swish of his cloak, a flick of his wrist, a sick, gleaming smile, and his own snake eyes that surveyed his subjects with amusement and contempt. No person assembled would dare to meet the Dark Lord's snake-eyes, but they would watch him, with respect, reverence, or fear. Usually it was a combination of the three.

Voldemort glided forward, towards the center of the room, where Draco stood and his mother lay. Draco had to resist the urge to cower in the face of the Dark Lord. He forced himself to stand tall and proud, shoulders back, head high. His heart beat fast in his chest. _This is my destiny_, he reminded himself. Maybe if he repeated that enough times he'd believe it.

Voldemort stopped walking, and Draco tensed, expecting to be addressed. Instead, Draco watched the Dark Lord's vague gaze slip quickly over his face and, to Draco's surprise, down to Narcissa. Draco's mother was hunched over on the floor, her face hidden by falling chunks of long blond hair. She had quieted down, and her only movements were her pale, bony hands, wringing each other.

Voldemort stared down at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, unexpectedly and sharply he kicked her where she lay. Narcissa yelped, caught off guard and scared.

"Get up," the Dark Lord ordered her, "Get up, now." Narcissa started to lift herself up slowly, but her thin, feeble arms shook, and she stopped, sobbing silently. At this, Voldemort began to draw his wand. Draco's eyes were wide with fear and helplessness. Voldemort pointed his wand at the woman and opened his mouth, but before he could utter a spell, a gaunt, dark figure flashed across his path towards Narcissa.

Bellatrix Lestrange, devoted death eater and sister to Narcissa, grabbed her sister by the wrist and forced her to her feet, furiously hissing at her. "Cissy, Cissy, you need to stand up. Get up now, Cissy!" When her attempts had succeeded, and Narcissa stood weakly beside her, Bellatrix maintained a tight grip on her sister's wrist, as if for fear of her slipping to the ground again if she stood on her own. Draco was witness to the spectacle, and his aunt's interference in the matter shocked him. He was aware of his mother's closeness with her sister, though he didn't entirely understand it, given their differences in personality and lifestyle. Draco had never had a sibling, so he was hardly one to give an opinion on the bond between them. Yes, it no doubt existed, but Draco had always had the idea that Bellatrix held Voldemort above all others, and that, if given the opportunity, she would do anything to show her loyalty to him and to gain his approval. Bellatrix was probably the most avid supporter of the Dark Lord in Draco's family, and stepping in his way to help her sister, even though she knew what the consequences might be, was so out of character for her. Now, the room stood still, awaiting Voldemort's reaction.

Voldemort seemed amused, as if he just had observed some vaguely entertaining curiosity. Finally, he spoke, mockingly:

"I don't recall asking for your assistance in this matter, Bella. You won't do much good anyway. I'm afraid your dear Narcissa—"

"My sister apologizes for her disobedience. She's not usually this _weak_," Bellatrix spit the last word at her sister, "I swear to you this won't happen again, my Lord. We are loyal to you beyond all others, and we will follow you and perform your will with nothing but the utmost reverence, care, and dedication." She finished her speech strongly, her eyes shining with feeling. Voldemort laughed his cruel laugh.

"A lovely sentiment, but may I advise you to tread carefully, Ms. Bellatrix… you'll find I don't appreciate beinginterrupted." Voldemort's voice was calm, but it was laced with venom. She looked ready to speak up again, either to apologize or to defend herself, or perhaps to further express her undying devotion to him. Bellatrix opened her mouth, but one glimpse of the threat in her lord's face was enough to make her hang her head and step slowly backward into the crowd, pulling a listless Narcissa along with her. Voldemort looked satisfied.

"Much better," he said, "Good girls." He stared at them for a moment more before he turned to the main attraction.

"Good evening, Draco," the Dark Lord said abruptly, a slight smile curving his lips. Draco jumped a little, but he recovered, and he bowed his head appropriately. Looking down, Draco could see the hem of Voldemort's robes, only a foot away from where he stood. "I assume you are aware of the purpose of tonight's gathering?" As he spoke, he began to circle slowly around Draco, like a shark circles its prey before it attacks. Draco gulped, but to his relief his voice came out strong.

"Yes, my Lord," he said, his gaze still directed downward. He noticed Voldemort's footsteps suddenly stop short.

"Good," Voldemort replied quietly, and then more loudly, "Good." He addressed the room once again, with much pomp and flourish. He was putting on a show.

"Tonight, my friends, is a very important night," he said, his hushed voice resonating throughout the room. "Tonight, we welcome a new Death Eater into our midst." He turned towards Draco. "I'm sure you all know young Mr. Malfoy here, whether directly or indirectly. Draco is the son of our dear Narcissa, and of course, Mr. Lucius Malfoy, who is, as you know, unfortunately unable to join us at this time." He paused, and everyone shot a glance at Narcissa, whose face was pointed downward and was covered by her hair. Bellatrix still gripped her wrist. As usual, Draco felt a surge of anger at the mention of his father, but his anger gave him strength. He stood his ground with a sense of renewed purpose. The Dark Lord continued:

"Draco has all the making of one of us. He is of pure blood, of course, and he comes from a long line of Slytherins, trailing all the way back to the Great Salazar himself. He has been raised in our ways from birth, and it is my belief that he has always had a strong understanding of our morals, our political stance, if I may. Am I right, Draco?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"And do you accept that stance, Draco?" The boy licked his dry lips and swallowed.

"I pledge myself entirely to the cause, my Lord. You have my total allegiance." The Dark Lord smiled wickedly and nodded.

"Yes," he said, "I can only hope you will be less disappointing than your parents have been." Draco swallowed nervously.

"I won't let you down." Voldemort chuckled and moved closer towards Draco. He lifted his wand, long and pale, and pushed it under Draco's chin, forcibly lifting his head up to meet Voldemort's eyes. Draco forgot to breathe. Voldemort got so close Draco could see Voldemort's slits for nostrils, his lipless smile, the pallor of his skin, and the malice in his eyes- a man more powerful than any almost any wizard, but, in actuality, less than a man. Voldemort breathed:

"For your sake, I hope not." They held the position for a moment longer before Voldemort released Draco and strode suddenly towards his assembled Death Eaters. Draco visibly relaxed, breathing heavily now that he could breathe again.

"My fellows," Voldemort continued, "You have all stood where Draco stands. Whether it was of late or long ago, none of you will ever forget the day you stood here and took your place of one of our own. The day you stepped forward to pledge allegiance to our noble cause to rid the world of scum and to establish a new order where we rule rightfully over muggles… mudbloods…and other filth that contaminates our society. You, my friends, bring the future." Voldemort smiled, sensing the audience's rapt and fervent attention. "Yes…you all remember bright and clear when you were in Draco's shoes. Exciting, wasn't it? However, Draco is a special case, for I have bestowed a great honor upon the boy."

Draco braced himself. He knew what was coming. He glanced shortly as his mother, who had returned to her quiet tears. Bellatrix held tightly Narcissa's wrist, shooting her sister aggravated warning looks.

"For you see, Draco has been given an opportunity to finish a cumbersome task that I myself have been unable to accomplish. If he is successful in completing this task, his name will go down in history and he will be called my most worthy follower, guaranteed a top position in our new world! Yes, a great honor indeed, though his mother doesn't seem to agree…do you Narcissa?" He looked at her with his sick smile, inviting her to challenge him, so he could squash her like a bug. But Narcissa stayed silent, her mouth a thin line, and she nodded her head slowly. Yes, she agreed compliantly, a great honor. Voldemort's mouth twisted into a grotesque smirk, but he let the matter slide.

"Draco Malfoy is our youngest Death Eater, an astonishing feat, and he is fully committed to carrying out the deed I now ask of him," he paused, "I have refrained from telling you my plans on this matter. I was biding my time until I could be certain the cards were in my favor, and the dust had settled. Now, I can reveal to you, my Death Eaters, what will come to be the most momentous occasion to touch the wizarding world for centuries.

"When school resumes next month, on September the 1st, and the Hogwarts train departs once more from King's Cross Station, a sequence of events shall irrevocably be put into effect, with Mr. Malfoy at the center of them. Before the year is up, my friends, Hogwarts's _beloved_ headmaster, Albus Dumbledore…will be dead." He paused, reveling in the stunned silence that met his words. Slowly, though, a murmur broke out through the audience, first hushed, but gradually louder and louder until it became a din that bounced off the walls surrounding them. Confusion, doubt, excitement, anger: everything took on a voice among those gathered. Draco understood only too well how they were feeling, as he had felt all those things himself when he was first told, plus more. He looked towards Voldemort, wondering why he didn't stop the commotion, but the Dark Lord had his eyes closed. His head lolled back a little and he was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying it, relishing in the chaos his words could provoke.

After a few more moments, Voldemort finally opened his eyes and raised his hand. He spoke one word: "_Silence_." And despite the ruckus only a moment before, despite the noise and the disorder that had been, the room took notice of their Lord. They were silent, because he had spoken, and so it had to be.

"You seem surprised," Voldemort chuckled, "You ask 'How?'." His voice turned bitterly sarcastic, "'How, you ask, will I bring the World's Greatest Wizard to his knees, begging for mercy, when, in all these years, I haven't succeeded in doing so. How will I take the light from his eyes, once and for all?" His hands were crossed behind his back and he paced casually across the floor in front of Draco. The boy followed him with his eyes.

"It is… disappointing, how much you doubt my abilities." Quite a few in the audience looked like they wanted to argue against that, but they restrained themselves. "It is true, yes, that in the past I have been unable to kill Albus Dumbledore. I will not deny it. Among all wizards, only his skill, experience, and intelligence come close to mine, and he has many allies who often insist on standing in my way.

"However, he is a very old man with one fatal weakness. He places utmost value on temperamental, faulty ideals, such as _love_," Voldemort laughed, "He trusts too quickly and too easily. He lets his heart distract him and cloud his judgment. This flaw Dumbledore has can very simply be used to manipulate him. That is what I plan to do.

"But, I can assure you, I will not be laying a hand on the old man. I will not need to, in the end. There is where Draco will come in. Being the fool he is, Dumbledore will not touch the boy, whatever threat Draco poses to his safety. Dumbledore will not even sense a threat at all! In his eyes, Draco will be nothing but a poor, lost child. He will plead with him, promising him safety…salvation… comfort." Draco, standing there, felt each word like a blow to the stomach. Then came the punch line:

"…But it will be too late. Dumbledore, as sure as he was in his belief in goodness, will be proven wrong. He will fall, nothing but a minor, irksome obstacle on our path to greatness… Draco Malfoy will kill him. Albus Dumbledore, the world's hero, will be dead! The earth will shake, the sky will crumble, the crowds will weep as we storm the castle in triumph, showing them all just who they have to fear! Who has the real power!" He grinned wickedly, "A new age will begin that night!" Voldemort stared fiercely into the crowd, all wide-eyed and stunned.

Then, they began to clap, faster and louder until it was a roar of wild applause. People cheered and stomped their feet and shouted to each other. They quickly turned into carnal beasts, overcome with excitement and hunger for what was to come.

Draco watched it all in numb shock, not knowing how to feel or what to think. He could feel a dozen pairs of eyes glued to him, filled with astonishment, jealousy, and, more often than not, a grudging respect. The others were transfixed by Voldemort. Bellatrix stared at her lord with a look of absolute devotion as she shrieked with glee. Narcissa, alone, stared straight ahead, her expression blank.

This time, Voldemort didn't try to quiet them. Instead, he shouted over the noise, their excitement fueling his energy.

"Now, we welcome our future!" The crowd whistled and whooped as Voldemort came to stand behind Draco. The boy felt Voldemort's hands go to his shoulders, and a shudder ran through his body. The hands were deathly cold, and long fingernails pinched him through his clothes. "Kneel before me, Draco," he hissed, "Bow down before your master."

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_Okay, here's part two! Hope you like it! Please review and tell me what you think. I love to get feedback! Thanks you guys._


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly, Draco sank to his knees. His heart beat irregularly, and his thoughts whizzed like crazy. This, here, now, was the moment he'd been waiting for. This was the moment he'd been told about, and the moment he'd practiced for, for weeks now. This was it. His moment to shine. The crowd screamed, but he could no longer hear them.

"_Your sleeve_, Draco," Voldemort said as he circled around to face the boy. Obediently, Draco pushed up the left sleeve of his jacket, for it had fallen down again, and rolled it to his elbow. His pale skin seemed to glow by candlelight. Voldemort smiled, and he leisurely removed his wand from the depths of his robes. He spoke the words that Draco had become so familiar with he could recite them himself.

"Do you, Draco Malfoy, hereby pledge yourself to the practice of the Dark Arts and their glory?"

"I do," Draco breathed, knowing his lines well.

"Do you hereby promise to take Voldemort as your lord and master?"

"I do."

"Will you serve him and follow him faithfully?"

"I will follow him to the ends of the earth."

"Will you obey him, keep his secrets, and carry out his noble work?"

"I will."

"Will you work with him to eradicate this world of mudbloods, blood traitors, and other filth that plagues the population?"

"I will."

"Will you stand with him in a new world where he shall be king?"

"I will." A pause.

"Will you give everything for the cause, including, if need be so, laying down your own life for the greater good?" Draco opened his mouth, prepared to recite the proper response, but he found himself hesitating. He throat closed up and his thoughts ran wild, yelling at him to say it, SAY IT, but his mouth wouldn't listen. He glanced up, catching a glimpse of Voldemort's snake eyes glaring down at him, glinting with malice. Draco quickly returned his gaze to the wooden floorboards. He took a deep breath and actively tried to silence his racing thoughts.

"I will," he said at last. The mood shifted. Everyone knew what was coming next. Voldemort alone seemed completely at ease as he strolled around the kneeling Draco. His slither-like footsteps were the only sound in the otherwise silent room. He stopped. His wand was poised as if to strike. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed how lightly Voldemort held his wand. It balanced precariously against the contours of his hand, looking like it would at any second slip to the ground. It seemed almost careless, holding a wand that way, like it was merely a spare piece of wood. Yet look how much damage it could do.

"Welcome, Draco Malfoy, to the Death Eaters," Voldemort said, with a flourishing gesture of the hand, then he said: "Hold out your arm."

Draco's eyes widened, the moment catching him by surprise even as he saw it coming. Time seemed to slow down. He noticed how hot the room seemed all of a sudden. Sweat soaked through the back of his robes and stuck his pale hair to his forehead. His muscles clenched. His every instinct was telling him no, don't do it, but he had to.

So, slowly, he unclamped his left arm from his side, the sleeve already rolled back. He held it out in front of him, out to Voldemort. Outstretched, pale and glowing in the candlelight, his arm seemed oddly disconnected to the rest of his body. Draco didn't know whether this was comforting, or frightening, or perhaps both.

"I now bind you, Draco Malfoy… to your lord, to your fellows, to the cause."

Voldemort pointed his wand. Draco held his breath. Then, he heard a horrible hissing, snarling sound that confused him at first. Then, he thought, of course, the incantation is in parseltongue. Draco knew only two people who spoke it. One was in front of him and the other was someone who was not likely to ever witness a Death Eater initiation ceremony. It was the perfect trick.

Before Draco could follow that thought even for an instant, black, sparking light, like a night sky during a lightning storm, flew from the tip of Voldemort's wand. Draco barely had time to clench his eyes shut when it hit him.

And it hit him. His arm jerked suddenly, a movement beyond his own control. It itched, he thought vaguely. It itched terribly, though he couldn't bring himself to scratch it. The itch came from underneath his skin. Quickly, though, the feeling escalated. Soon, it was not an uncomfortable itch that he felt, but a burning. His arm was burning, hotter and hotter every second. Inside his head, he was panicking. Of course, he'd heard accounts of the burning, but that was nothing compared to living it, and feeling it. He wanted to shake his arm free of the flames, stifle them, douse them, kill them, but there was nothing he could do. He was paralyzed and defenseless against them. So the feeling swept over his body like waves of blue fire, ebbing and flowing, until he was completely engulfed in flames. Desperately, he opened his eyes, though terrified of what he'd see.

There were no flames, no great plumes of fire that devoured his skin. Still, Draco stared in horror as his arm started to bubble. The flesh rolled and heaved, pushing and pulling and reforming. It could not be his, surely. It was some alien, awful thing he was seeing. But then, his vision went dark and he couldn't see it at all anymore. He could still feel it.

It was getting worse all the time. Draco forgot where he was, what he was doing; he forgot himself. All that remained was this searing, all-consuming pain that was eating up his body, and the screams that echoed around in his head, ricocheting off the walls of his mind, unable to be released.

Just when it seemed this would never end, just when he was hoping to die, Draco felt the pain recede. It left, as quickly as it had come, and gradually Draco sensed his consciousness beginning to return. The first thing he noticed was a cool hardness pressing against his cheek. Carefully, he opened his eyes.

Draco found himself lying face-down on the dusty floor of Borgin and Burke's. His limbs were sprawled out around him. Tentatively, he moved his leg, just a little bit, and he almost yelped out loud from the pain. His entire body hurt as if he'd just been beaten with a club, and his head was beating as hard and as fast as his heart. Draco shifted himself slightly, wincing dreadfully, so as to touch his right hand to his face. He felt the dust where his cheek had touched the floor and brushed it off as much as he could, white specks raining lightly to the ground. He licked his dry, chapped lips. He had a bitter taste in his mouth and some remains of the dust. He felt a strong urge to spit. His hair was plastered to his forehead. Beads of sweat dripped to the ground along with the dust. His robes were nearly soaked through. Draco's eyes stung and he blinked, startling himself when the action pushed tears from them. Too exhausted to wipe the tears away, he let them roll down his face and fall to the floor like everything else.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Draco worked his way to sitting. His breathing was strained and irregular from the exertion. He remained staring at the floor, not yet ready to face the room. He prepared himself instead to face that which scared him the most.

He lifted his left arm, which hurt more than anything else. It throbbed dully, but every once in a while came a sharp stab of pain to surprise him. Draco looked upon the surface of his skin.

There, shining in the candlelight… was his Mark. It shone black and new and powerful. Draco stared at it, transfixed. The snake and the skull, so familiar to Draco, danced on his skin like they were home. The snake hissed in the language only Draco's lord could understand. Its pointed tongue flicked out menacingly over its sharp teeth. The skull grinned and cackled.

All at once, Draco became aware of voices in the room where they hadn't been before: the Death Eaters. He really was one of them now, he supposed. Their voices rose, powerful and booming. They began to chant Draco's name, over and over, as the Dark Lord stood above them all and laughed his cold, cruel laugh.


End file.
